hwango

Willem cursed softly as his boot snagged on yet another bramble, or root, or perhaps this time it was a protruding rock. Somewhere in the back of his mind a tiny voice was suggesting that this had happened too many now to consider normal, and could officially be attributed to malice on the part of the forest. Or, a slightly different but equally worried voice suggested, perhaps it was not hindering him out of malice but trying to discourage him out of concern. Either would be good cause to reconsider his current course of action.

But of course the loudest voice in Willem's head was the one that didn't believe that forests had motivations or took conscious actions, and didn't hold with any sort of superstitious nonsense, which explains why he was on his way to rob the woman that all of the locals insisted was a witch.

Many brambles, curses, and stumbles later, Willem finally got a view of the cottage. It was small, old, and seemed utterly unremarkable. A meandering little brook ran quite close to the building, and from the astonishing racket it must have been positively brimming with croaking frogs. The noise had drowned out any sort of bird song several minutes ago. Quite possibly the birds didn't even bother, or just found someplace quieter to nest.

Willem watched the house for any signs of movement. There was no smoke coming from the chimney, which probably meant the woman was away at the moment, but he'd prefer to be certain. Obviously he wouldn't be able to listen for any indications she was home. He crept a little closer.

Eventually he got close enough that he was able to peer into a window. There was no sign of anyone about. Nor was there any sign of anything even remotely occult, which actually seemed a bit strange. Willem might not believe that the cottage's inhabitant consorted with demons and spirits and crafted potions and vile enchantments, but certainly a lot of other people did, and he'd expected to see something that would lead people to draw that sort of conclusion. Weird symbols on the floor, odd bits of bone hanging from pieces of string, or at least some dribbly candles. But the contents of the cottage looked perfectly ordinary, if perhaps a bit in need of dusting. Okay, that cobweb in the corner looked a little occult.

No two people in the village seemed to agree exactly what the alleged witch did with her dark powers, or in fact what sorts of dark powers the woman even possessed. The only thing they all seemed to believe is that she had enormous sack of gold coins under her bed. Some believed she had acquired them from demons in exchange for her soul, others that her evil powers were available for hire, but everyone seemed quite certain that she had them. To Willem, the possibility seemed worth investigating. And what use was an enormous sack of gold to a crazy old woman living in the woods, anyway?

Willem entered via the building's only door and headed straight for the bed. It was indeed raised off the floor on thick wooden posts, and there did seem to be a sack under it. He tried to drag it out and discovered that it was enormously heavy, which brought a mad grin to his face. His smile faded, however, when he realized that it was suddenly very quiet. What had happened to all of the croaking? And now it was replaced by some footsteps.

He turned to look and flinched in horror. Oh. That's why everyone in town thought she was a witch. However bland and unassuming her home might appear, the woman herself could easily spark all of the rumors and stories. She had it all - twisted spine, gnarled hands, eyes that were mismatched in both size and color. The bits of bone on strings hung not from the ceiling but around her neck and from the brim of her almost comically over-sized pointy black hat.

"A thief!" she cried, and pointed with her cane. Then she...yes, there was no other word for it but "cackled." Willem's eyes darted around the room for something heavy he might use to hit her. She was between him and the exit. Rationally he knew that she was just some frail old woman he could easily knock her aside and be on his way, but...he was having a lot of irrational thoughts at that moment.

The cackling eventually wheezed to a conclusion. "Don't you know what witches do to would-be thieves, my boy?"

Willem's mind jumped back to the unusually dense frog population near the cottage. No. This was ridiculous. "You don't...you don't expect me to believe you're going to turn me into a frog?" This summoned more cackling.

"Don't be silly, lad. Got too many frogs already." With one hand she continued to prop herself up on her cane. With her other hand she reached behind her back and then produced the biggest knife Willem had ever seen. It was made of some kind of black glass. "But frogs gotta eat, and so I could use some more flies. And as you get acorns from oak trees, you get flies from..."

For an old woman, she could move remarkably fast.

A scream echoed through the forest. One of the trees sighed to itself. Oh, well. It had tried to stop him.